


I am Broadcasting for Personal Reasons

by nameless_bliss



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Awkward Carlos, Brief Explicit Language, Carlos's Science, Carlos-centric, Cecil is a Dork, Fluff, M/M, Night Vale Community Radio, Partially Sentient Radio?, Pre-Relationship, Secret Crush, carlos is a potty-mouth, carlos tries to save the town, cecil is adorable, emotionally compromised carlos, not-so-secret-anymore crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1801399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameless_bliss/pseuds/nameless_bliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos is working all night to try and save the town. This may be newsworthy, but not newsworthy enough that he expected to hear it in a radio broadcast.<br/>A radio broadcast in the middle of the night.<br/>A radio broadcast just for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I am Broadcasting for Personal Reasons

First came the jolt of electricity. Then the distinct hum of static, too changing and musical to be white noise.

 _“We look up to watch the stars_ _,”_ came a familiar voice, smooth and clear even through the cheap laptop speakers, _“_ _And the stars do not look down to watch us. We pretend the stars do not look down to watch us. We pretend we don’t notice them shifting to try and get a better look. Welcome to Night Vale."_

Carlos (after assuring himself that he wasn’t going to have a shock-induced heart attack) shot a quick glance around the empty lab - only to reaffirm that it was, in fact, empty. His eyes darted back to his laptop, and most specifically, the NVCR webpage that had suddenly burst to life in front of his various windows of spreadsheets and games of Minesweeper. The live stream was languidly crawling across his screen, proudly showcasing the fact that it wouldn’t need to stop and rebuffer even once during the broadcast. It never did, no matter how inconsistently the WiFi behaved on every other website. He hadn’t opened the NVCR page. He hadn’t even opened his browser. 

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, leaning in to get a good look at the small clock in the corner of his screen.

3:17 a.m.

He squinted, moving in a bit closer.

Definitely 3:17 a.m.

“Wasisthat?” Carlos mumbled, not caring about coherence since he knew no one was there to hear him. Even the Sheriff’s Secret Police had to sleep sometime… he assumed.

Cecil was starting his show. In the middle of the night. Not even at the top of the hour. Seventeen minutes past the hour. This wasn’t the way his show had started that evening, when it had been broadcast through the lab at its _normal_ time. This was different. This was new. At 3:17 in the morning.

_“Good evening, Night Vale. Or, Good morning. Or, Good however you prefer to classify this moment in your life. It is, after all, your life. I don’t claim the authority to classify time on your behalf.”_

He sounded like he always did: calm, soothing, unbearably cool. He had none of the thick grogginess that was currently weighing down Carlos’s vocal chords.

“ _Let me take you right to our top story. Eyewitnesses have sent in various reports that there is a light, a solitary light, spilling its fluorescent glow through one of the windows at the lab next to Big Rico’s."_

Carlos’s head snapped back, looking up at the single, slender tube of a bulb glaring down on his lab bench. He jerked around to look out the nearest window, suddenly worried about shadowy figures and unseen passers-by.

“ _Previous reports - sent in earlier this evening - confirmed that tonight, a certain Scientist, a certain brilliant Scientist, did not make the short journey from his place in the lab to the apartment he calls home, even though it is just upstairs.”_

The slow, sinking feeling in his stomach sank rather suddenly. He hadn’t gone home yet. And the city knew. Somehow, the people knew. And they had told Cecil. They had told Cecil that he hadn’t gone home yet. He looked around the lab once again, even though he knew he’d find the same dark, abandoned space surrounding him. He tried to return his attention to the microscope in front of him, the problem that had forced him to pull an all-nighter in the first place: the algae. The algae that was slowly replacing all the pavement in town. It hadn’t been a total crisis earlier that day. But right when it was time to drag himself up to bed, it started seeping into the foundations of various buildings. If he didn’t figure out how to reverse the process as soon as possible, City Hall was in danger of sinking into a giant puddle of neon green mush. He couldn’t go to bed until he figured it out. Until he saved the town.

That idea - he begrudgingly conceded - might have been a touch over-dramatic.

“ _Simple deductive reasoning would confirm that a certain brilliant Scientist is alone in the lab, undoubtedly working beautifully on some fascinating scientific discovery that I am not even qualified to imagine. After all, I am a reporter, not a scientist. But this wonderful, brilliant Scientist is still there, held at his desk in the small hours of the unclassifiable void by the mere fact that his mind is too brilliant to shut down for the night. He is undoubtedly doing some very important science, probably for the betterment of our entire town. And we owe him dearly for that.”_

It took less than ten words for Carlos to become horrified. Because here he was, gazing desperately into a microscope at otherworldly algae in the middle of the night in a town he still didn’t understand even after several months of study… and the radio was talking about him.

No, not the radio. Cecil. Cecil was talking about him.

And he didn’t sound the same anymore. His cool, professional radio persona had cracked ever so slightly. Because in the last few words he spoke, Carlos could have sworn he heard the warmth of a smile.

He picked up the battered thermos on the other side of his laptop. There was still a small pool of coffee shining in the dark depths of the plastic interior. He had been drinking coffee all night. The coffee pot in the far corner of the lab had managed to put itself into some sort of ‘constantly brewing’ mode, and hadn’t stopped gurgling and hissing since the incorrectly-timed sunset. With this much caffeine in his system, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep. With absolutely no hesitation, he lifted his empty hand and struck it across his face with all the force his numbed limbs could muster.

“Oh, mother of fuck!” He brought his hand to his cheek again, this time lightly caressing. “The fuck did I hit so hard for?” The intense pain had jolted himself right out of grogginess for a few precious, biting seconds. At the very least, he had assured himself that he wasn’t asleep and therefore wasn’t dreaming. Cecil was really broadcasting his all-nighter on the radio.

“ _Our city’s most diligent, most selfless Scientist, working tirelessly at his desk in the small hours…_ _”_ Cecil’s voice trailed off slightly, in a way Carlos had never heard in a broadcast before, “ _is the reason why I am currently at my own desk in these same small hours.”_ The voice of the professional radio host had fallen away almost entirely. He was speaking as if he were there, sitting next to Carlos on one of his colleagues' long-abandoned chairs. _“_ _You see, when I received word just a few minutes ago that this Scientist was slaving all night, I couldn’t bear the thought of such a brave, selfless Scientist sitting by himself in an empty lab, entirely alone save for his brilliant and fascinating work. Completely alone and lonely, despite sacrificing his entire night for the benefit of our town. What could be done? His science is far too important to interrupt, but his selfless diligence could not go overlooked.”_

Carlos felt the thermos start to slip out of his fingers. It was too heavy suddenly, as though the coffee had solidified into lead. He swished it around to verify that it hadn’t. He was tempted to slap himself again; reality was slipping into a dream-like scenario just as the metallic coffee container had started to slip through his useless grip. This couldn’t be real.

Cecil cleared his throat, the Radio Professional returning full-force. _“_ _As you know, it is illegal to listen to the radio after midnight, and has been ever since the incident in 1962. However, a brief glance at my Official Night Vale Pocket Guide revealed that the language of said law only forbids listening to an actual radio. All web-based listening devices - even if they are transmitting radio signals from a radio station - are still allowed, due to the law’s lack of technological foresight. Of course,_ _”_ the playful lilt of a smile started to slide his voice upward again, _"t_ _his technicality is not public knowledge, therefore post-midnight-pre-sunrise radio listening is practically unheard of in Night Vale. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was not a single citizen listening to their radio right now. In fact, I am certain that no one is listening to the radio right now.”_ The light, wry vocal quality slid down, and was replaced with something that Carlos thought… he wasn’t sure… but he almost thought… was it, _shyness_?

“ _Most of the town is asleep, of course. I suppose there is a slight, slight chance that - if someone happened to be awake right now, even at this ungodly hour… it is possible that they might be tuning in to this broadcast. And, if that were the case, I would like to take this moment to say… Hello, Listener."_

Something clenched in Carlos’s chest. Something tight and strong and somehow reminding him of flowers. This couldn’t be happening. An image floated across the backs of his eyes, an image of Cecil, huddled at his radio desk in the dead of night, still in whatever outrageous getup he wore as pajamas, leaning over the microphone… talking to him.

Talking to him. Just to him. No one else.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, disheveled and utterly ridiculous, speaking softly into the microphone in an empty studio. Hair still mussed from the indent of his pillow, movements still jumbled and sleepy...

The corner of Carlos’s mouth twitched upward, like he wanted to smile, but his muscles were still paralyzed from the unbelievable absurdity of it all. He swallowed, suddenly feeling a pressure constricting his throat and making it difficult to breathe. The tightness in his chest grew in intensity, but also in whatever quality was making it feel floral. Carlos was sitting at his lab bench, wheezing, covered in flowers. Exhaustion had suddenly been replaced with euphoria, and his previously heavy limbs now felt like they were in danger of lifting right off of his torso. He felt a strange heat burn right beneath his eyes. Quickly dabbing his fingers against the skin of his cheek revealed that he was, indeed, blushing. Sitting at his lab bench, wheezing, covered in flowers, _blushing_ _._

There was no algae in that moment, no dark threat of collapse and destruction and whatever else Night Vale had in store for him. There was no need for sleep tugging at his eyes, no coffee pot hissing a reminder of its dripping lifeblood. There was no lab, strange and foreboding in all its empty darkness despite the fact that he had spent more time in it than he had in his apartment. And there was no apartment upstairs, enticing him with the comforting promise of his bed, draped in the familiar fabric of the blankets he had had since grad school. In that moment, there was just Cecil, sitting simultaneously across town and right next to him. Cecil, who had woken up in the middle of the night and snuck himself into a radio studio just to keep him company. Cecil, who might have been putting himself in danger from station management (did they ever leave the studio, or go to sleep?) to do so. Cecil, who had done all of this in a way that wouldn’t be intrusive, that wouldn’t distract Carlos from his work.

Cecil, who was, in that moment, perfect.

“ _I_ _understand as well as anyone that familiarity and routine are frequently considered important factors in productivity, therefore I will continue my broadcast as usual, Listener._ _”_ The Radio Professional was back, covering up his bashful smiles with another clear of his throat. _“_ _Of course, not much has had time to change since my last broadcast, so I will report updates where I can, and simply repeat the news that has not yet changed since it was last given.”_

And the show began, much as it had earlier that evening. Cecil spoke of press conferences and dangerous fugitives and clever interns meeting less-than-clever demises due to forces far beyond their control. It all had a familiar ring to it, even though Carlos had been so caught up in this algae problem that he hadn’t paid a great deal of attention the first time around. He worked as vigilantly as he could, finally managing to turn a small petri dish of algae back into bland, chalky pavement… but with no idea as to how he’d done it. Still, the fact that it _could_ be done - somehow - was encouraging, and he worked with new determination as Cecil moved on to a traffic report about how the pre-dawn streets were empty, as empty as the void after a lightning storm.

He didn’t know if it really was the familiarity and routine of working with the radio playing, or the comforting feeling of another presence in the lab with him, but he worked with more focus in the next twenty minutes than he had the entire night. He was only hampered when he occasionally paused for a few seconds here and there to really listen to the voice on the radio, the voice that was speaking exclusively _to_ him and _for_ him. Then he was forced to stop working, to smile at the laptop screen, or spin around in his chair, or bury his face in his hands to try and press all of his confusing emotions back inside where they belonged. There was a time and place to deal with what he was feeling, but it was not the empty lab at 3:44 in the morning with the algae starting to spread up the walls.

“ _And now, Dear Listener… the weather.”_

A choking-sort-of-whining sound leapt out of Carlos’s throat. Because… had he just said ‘Dear’? He had, hadn’t he? ‘Dear Listener’. _Dear_ Listener. Dear.

Cecil used that word frequently enough, especially when on the air. Carlos had heard it enough that it no longer caught his attention… in a normal broadcast. But this was far from normal. He had said that to Carlos. Just Carlos. No one else. Even though Cecil had referred to him as ‘Dear Carlos’ on occasion before, he had only ever done so when speaking to everyone else. Now, he was speaking directly to him. It felt inexpressibly yet remarkably different. So much more tender, so much more intimate than anything else he had said.

Soothing piano chords began to spread through the lab. With such a large, empty space, Carlos had assumed the music would echo eerily between the tile surfaces. But it didn’t, it enveloped the air in a way that made him feel like he was sitting in a tiny, soundproof room. It was as if each sound wave traveled directly to his ears, nowhere else. A guitar joined the piano, followed by another instrument he couldn’t quite recognize. Something brass, maybe? Whatever it was, it made the music sound as soothing as a lullaby. A woman began to sing in a deep, calming, conversational voice.

In Spanish.

Carlos told himself not to smile. He told himself that he was a scientist, goddammit. A busy scientist with very important science to be doing. But no matter how hard he chastised himself, he still ended up collapsing on to his desk, face landing squarely on his open notebook. The spiral binding pressed almost painfully into his cheek, but he hardly noticed. The sudden swarm of butterflies dancing through his stomach made it impossible to feel anything else. He had been struck, utterly struck down by a radio host in the middle of the night who was clearly doing everything in his power to try and smother the life out of the poor scientist with his unbridled wonderfulness. Carlos wasn’t sure how the weather worked, to be honest. He had no idea if Cecil had control over what was broadcast during that segment. But there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he had chosen this one specifically for his lone listener. Because Cecil knew Carlos had grown up speaking Spanish at home just as often as he spoke English. Cecil had immediately expressed amazement, and heaped all sorts of unnecessary praise on him for happening to have been raised in a bilingual household. And Cecil had been utterly devastated that he didn’t know a word of Spanish, and couldn’t help make Carlos feel ‘more at home’ by speaking it with him. Carlos had insisted over and over again that it wasn’t Cecil’s job to make him feel at home (he was, after all, just a radio host), and there were plenty of other people in Night Vale who were fluent, if he ever did feel some sort of linguistic homesickness.

Cecil’s lack of Spanish comprehension was clear in the choice of song. The gentle, caressing melody sounded as sweet as any love song, but the lyrics were inexplicably about a dog that had been hit by a bus several different times. The strange, disjointed nature of the narrative made Carlos wonder if there were any recording artists in Night Vale, where the oddly poetic horror story wouldn’t feel the slightest bit out of the ordinary.

Regardless of the questionable lyrics, the gesture the song represented was unmistakable. And Carlos didn’t know what to do with himself. He kept his face firmly planted in the crumpled paper of his notebook, bringing his hands up to bury his fingers in his hair.

“Ceeeecil,” he practically whined against the scribbled graphs and charts, “what are you _doing_?”

Carlos was utterly emotionally unequipped to deal with his situation. The butterflies dancing in his stomach made their way slowly up his throat until he was afraid he might actually vomit a rainbow. The pressure in his chest was so intense that it hurt, but hurt like a bear hug that was just a little too tight.

The weather ended, and Carlos suddenly felt as though he were re-joining a conversation, as if Cecil could see him with his head pressed into his desk. He quickly uprighted himself, the notebook sticking to his face and traveling the first few inches with him before peeling away from his cheek and slipping down to the floor. Cecil was doing this broadcast to help him work, and here he was repaying him by being absolutely useless. He cracked his knuckles, feeling a new wave of determination and the promise of a brilliant discovery just around the corner.

“ _Welcome back, Dear Ca- ah, Listener.”_

“Fuck.”

Carlos was smacked back to emotional instability. He clenched his hands into fists, hard enough that he felt his short fingernails threaten to tear through the rough skin of his palms. “Focus. Algae. Massive crisis. Focus,” he began to repeat the words to himself like a mantra, keeping his dark eyes locked on the petri dish next to his laptop. The laptop that was still pouring out the sweet, gentle voice of the radio host who was broadcasting exclusively to make him happy and doing an impossibly good job of it-

“Focus. Algae. Massive crisis. I’m a scientist, dammit. Science.”

“ _The night sky is not streaked with the first rays of sunlight. If you had been watching the sky, you would say it was still as dark as it has ever been. And yet, if you looked away for a moment, then looked back, you would notice that it is in fact lighter near the horizon.”_

Carlos glanced out the window - justifying that it was on his own whim, and not because he was focusing on the radio instead of his work - and saw that the sky was indeed beginning to lighten into a dusty grey-blue.

“ _The night is silent, as it always is. And yet, if you listen closely, you can hear the faint beginnings of the inevitable sunrise - quiet enough now, but soon to become loud.”_

Cecil was silent for several moments, and Carlos strained his ears to listen as he had instructed. All he could hear was the calm, steady beat of his own heart. And, he realized with a crooked smile, the almost feline hissing of the coffee maker in the corner. He couldn’t hear the sunrise yet. He could only hear the gentle, soothing sounds of his own existence.

“ _As dawn creeps upon our town, our town creeps upon us. I fear our time is almost up, Listener. Soon, you could be joined by any number of prying ears. And while I am a radio professional,_ _”_ his voice took on the sarcastic twinkle of a smirk, _“_ _and of course only broadcast shows intended for the greater public, I must confess… I have no desire to speak to the greater public right now._ _”_ All trace of joking or insincerity vanished. Carlos rested his elbows on the edge of the desk, finding it too difficult to keep himself upright without assistance. _“I have only the desire to speak to you, Sweet Listener, in a time when I thought you might want to hear a familiar voice._

 _“I realize, of course, that there is the possibility that a certain brilliant Scientist finished whatever work was keeping him so cruelly from the much-deserved reward of a good night’s sleep. And it is possible that said Scientist was finally free to travel up the long flight of stairs keeping him from his bed. It is possible that I have been speaking to no one, after all. I could be speaking to no one, this very moment. It is even more possible - in fact it is highly likely - that the odd hour has made me… a little too bold. Perhaps, after returning to my own home and enjoying a few more hours of sleep, I will wake up in the bright light of day and feel… terror. Or humiliation. Heart-flattening embarrassment for what I have done, and what I have said tonight. But I don’t care. I don’t care, Dear Listener. Dear Scientist. I don’t care that the later it gets, the less control I have over my own vocal chords. I don’t care that the pre-morning frequently gives me a sudden bout of Chronic Stupid-Mouth,_ _”_ Carlos chuckled, understanding exactly what he meant. _“_ _I don’t care, because there is a chance, however small, that you are there. That you are listening. And that in my words, you found some comfort, some happiness, however small.”_

Carlos gazed unblinkingly at his laptop screen, as though he could see Cecil’s soft, sleepy face instead of his blank screen saver. He leaned in a little closer, and saw his own face reflected in the black screen. There were thick, dark circles under his eyes, his labcoat was half-hanging off one shoulder, and his hair looked like it had been zapped with a lightning bolt. But there was nothing tired or disheveled in the soft smile tugging at his lips. And as he continued to stare at his own reflection, he thought - just for a moment - that he could see Cecil, giving him the same smile in return.

There had to be something he could do. Some way he could find to do his science exclusively to help Cecil, the way Cecil had done his radio show exclusively to help him. It wasn’t fair; he couldn’t think of anything. He couldn’t think of a single way to thank him for this. Except, of course, to solve the algae crisis once and for all, and prevent his radio station from being swallowed up in the spongy goop. But that didn’t feel… personal enough. There had to be something else. He finally tore himself away from the laptop, reaching to the floor next to him to pick up his notebook. He flipped open to a blank page toward the back, far enough away from his work that no one would accidentally stumble upon it. He pulled his favorite pen out of the breast pocket of his labcoat.

‘Brainstorming:’ he scrawled across the top of the page, ‘Scientific Expressions of Appreciation’.

_“As the distant rumbles of sunrise begin to penetrate the silence of the night, I fear Station Management will not be asleep for much longer. I fear I have come to the end of my broadcast. Know that if I had my way, I would stay on the radio for you until I knew for a fact that you were tucked safely in your bed, drifting off into a pleasant sleep, Dearest Listener. I know that daylight will come, and silence my foolish mouth, preventing me from saying the silly things I have said tonight. It always does. But here, suspended in the delicate world where neither night nor day fully exist, let me say… I truly hope you have a good night. And when you are finally capable of being swept up in the embrace of a dream, I hope it is a dream as fascinating and wonderful as you._

_“Goodnight… Carlos. Goodnight.”_

   

   

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for reading!  
> Note to any readers who might also read my ongoing fic "He Had Come to Study", it should be noted that this fic DOES take place in that story's canon. Since it was an original broadcast and not an official episode, I had to write it as a separate fic.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing of Night Vale, or its characters. I do this as a way to express my love and try to stave off feels-related injuries.


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